


Words Fail

by orphan_account



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt LeFou, M/M, Selectively mute, gafou, gaston isn't dead, major character death but not really, mute lefou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-19 17:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After Gaston's death, Lefou stops talking altogether.





	1. Loud

**Author's Note:**

> //I saw a tumblr post about Lefou going mute after Gaston's death and it had notes about Belle teaching him to read and write as other ways to communicate and things like that. I just had to write a fic about it! The pairing IS gafou though, make no mistake, it won't be all angst.

_He fell._

Lefou listens to Belle’s soft murmurs blankly, everything after those two words turning into a mess of muddy sounds that made him feel like he was underwater. While everyone is celebrating and meeting their families all over again, Lefou stands to the corner as Belle and newly transformed back Prince Adam explain Gaston’s fate. The glances they keep sending each other are so full of genuine love that it almost makes him sick.

_He fell._

Lefou blinks, his reaction blank and unresponsive. He can see Belle’s eyebrows furrow in concern, he can see her lips form worried words towards him. The high tones of her voice lilt up in the end, it’s a question. But he can’t hear it. He can’t understand it. His mind is still turning in place, repeating the same statement about the uncertain demise of his companion.

_He fell?_

Everyone is so _loud_. Jovial laughing, crying, and shouting as the villagers find pieces of their heart that they didn't know they had lost in the first place. It’s crowded, even though LeFou is standing alone with only two others across from him. Their stares bore into him harshly. It’s suffocating.

“Oh. I see.” He responds dumbly, body turning on its autopilot and saying the first foolish thing that manages to tumble out of his lips.

His lackluster response and the monotonous daze in his voice must not have been the right way to respond as the pair only look more concerned after he answers. But LeFou doesn't wait for more questions, giving them an attempted but empty nod and then shuffling past them. Dangerous emotions churn below the surface, even as his almost unfeeling shell of a body walks away with no more than an unseeing glance forward.

Belle calls out for him again, but his steps are growing quicker and longer in strides away from them. Away from the deafening laughter and alarmed but relieved shouts. Away from the loud glances and questioning concern. Away from it all. Pretty soon he’s running, sprinting down the long grand halls and over to the west wing area where Gaston had been. His heart is in his chest, breaths ragged and harsh, and his footsteps clacking loudly across the floors and echoing along the tall pillars. LeFou smashes his body into the door to outside, staggering out into the shaded courtyard with wheezing exhales and trembling steps.

The inner walls are tall, much too tall. They loom ominously, almost as if this part of the castle hadn't been touched by the golden warmth of the sun as the curse was lifted. It feels like judgment. The weight of his morally disturbing decisions he allowed for the sake of Gaston's preservation now feel like an anchor binding him to the earth. The quiet stark difference from the rest of the lively loud castle sends goosebumps up LeFou’s arms and a shiver wracks his body. He can hear every step of his feet too loudly, and the winded breaths wheezing in his chest still have not ceased as he stumbles further in.

He chances a glance upwards and truly sees how damning the fall would be from such a height. A whimper tumbles out of his mouth helplessly at the very thought of it and LeFou snaps his head back down, searching for any sign of his other half.

The large chunks of the broken bridge stare at him from a distance and LeFou can only pray there is no body underneath them. That this was all some dream and that Gaston too, was spared just as everyone else was. Magic flowed through the castle just moments ago, how then could something so real and horrid happen at the same time? Did magic discriminate? 

A glint of metal reflects the light in the corner of his eye.

“No…no _no no no no_ \- “he chants to himself, snapping his head around to stare it in the face and taking off into a desperate sprint over towards it.

The pistol could belong to none other than Gaston. LeFou was more than familiar with the brilliantly-polished gun, having polished it for his friend many times in the past. He’d seen it on hunting trips, in combat, and even in the quiet of his home as Gaston polished it idly as Lefou cooked up a meal for them with their latest hunt.

It was fallen a small distance away from the boulders, laying innocently in the grass to beckon him closer. It wanted him to face the reality that he couldn't possibly even fathom, not even in his worst of nightmares. Shakily, he bends down cradling the weapon with gentle trembling hands, the familiar feel of its shape giving him a momentary comfort. It doesn't last and is quickly replaced by impending dread. Gaston wouldn't drop his weapons, ever. His rapier and pistol were the best-maintained weapons in the village, they were a source of pride and comfort to him. His taller friend relished the feel of their familiar holster, the fine engravings in the metal. They took him back to a time when he had everyone's fate in the palm of his hands as he commanded the front line and played the role of hero perfectly. Perhaps childishly, Lefou clutches the weapon to his chest as he straightens up.

Weapons had never brought him a sense of comfort, but for Gaston's treasured weapon, he could make an exception.

For Gaston, he always made an exception...

Brown eyes eventually cannot stay averted from the giant mess of rubble and collapsed bridge parts that have fallen in the middle of the courtyard. There is no corpse-like hand sticking out from under the rocks, nor the sounds of a wheezing pained man underneath them. There isn't a giant puddle of blood leaking out in a gruesome fatality of what happened. In fact, there isn't an indicator at all that Gaston could possibly be under there.

That's what he tries to blindly assure himself as he moves over to the large crumbled structures.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he shoves the pistol in his overcoat pocket. With shaky hands, he presses himself against the very top broken boulder and pushes with a desperate groan. His shoes grip for traction desperately as he grinds his shoulder into the structure with gritted teeth. Gravity eventually helps him and it topples heavily off the pile and onto the ground with an echoing thud, the momentum almost flinging him face first into the ground.

It’s so loud.

There’s nothing underneath it. Or at least that first slab of broken bridge in the rather large pile. He stares blankly at the multitude of stones still piled around the area. LeFou lets out a silent sob, dropping his head into his hands at the overwhelming and logical probability that Gaston is at the very bottom of the pile, a crushed and unidentifiable mess of bones and blood. It’s too much to even fathom. The mere thought proves has his entire body shaking trembling with terror and grief unlike anything he has every experienced before.

He’s tired. He’s overwhelmed. He’s _alone_.

He is so very alone.

LeFou only allows himself a couple more hitched breaths before dropping his hands and looking back to the pile of rubble. He has to find him. He has to see it for himself. Now frantic, he staggers into the pile, latching onto smaller rocks he can heave up himself with strain. His hands push and pull and lift for what seems like hours, but the time is so warped inside of his head. The only thing tumbling through it is Gaston's name as the hard stone cuts scrapes along his fingers harshly. His hands are scratched and rubbed raw already, shoulder aching and his ribs flaring in pain. In a single evening he had been almost crushed by a harpsichord, fought and brawled against his own people, and had been betrayed by the one person he cared most about. He throws his entire body at the next stone, barely able to wrap his arms around it and attempting to obtain leverage as he tightens his grip.

His fingers grip the stone, but it isn't just the coarse broken stone that meets him back. There is something else, it feels sticky and tacky. His entire body freezes, knowing the familiar feel of what is on his hand. His grip slackens around the stone and slowly, he steps back. Sluggishly, as if n a daze; he pulls back his hand, dark eyes flicking down. His palm turns up to meet him and it reveals the dark signature of drying blood on his pale skin.

He _fell_.

Then he’s screaming. It’s raw and loud and filled with an anguish that cannot be described but simply heard, staggering backwards a couple steps in horror. His knees hit the ground harshly as his mind chants to him that _‘He fell, he fell’_ and he sobs and screams unashamed and unfiltered. He weeps Gaston’s name over and over again like a broken mantra burned into his heart and then screams in denial at the thought of that name now being nothing but a memory as tears trail down his reddened cheeks.

There’s a sudden frantic grip on his shoulders and they twist his body away from the rubble and into their bosom. They hush him softly, run their smaller but knowing hands along his back desperately and hold him tight as he sobs and shouts his refusal to Gaston’s death.

The grip never lessens, not even when LeFou’s voice gives out from exhaustion and abuse. Even then, the shorter man is still hoarsely murmuring “No’s” and “Gaston” the panic and disbelief so thick in his tone it is as if his body couldn't contain all of the emotion he held. The soothing hands bring his head to rest more in the crook of their neck. His words eventually die down to whispering slurred words, so winded from the emotional attack on his person as his body slumps in exhaustion.

“Are you back with me love?” the voice coos to him softly. It’s familiar.

He can’t look up, or really find the strength to do anything but simply remain. The one holding him doesn't seem to mind too much, and she titters sadly for him, putting a warm wise hand on his cheek to wipe away some of the tears still lingering on his round cheeks..

“When I saw you talking to the others I knew I needed to at least thank you properly for saving my life. I couldn't help but track you down, you helped give me my life back you did. But oh, oh my poor dear, what a terrible shock you've gone through…” she converses to him softly, empathetically. The words are grounding and warm, not loud like everyone else. Her hand finds its way to his hair, petting it softly as she keeps the other one firmly around his lower back for support even though they are both already kneeling on the ground.

Finally, the voice clicks. The teapot. The one who he fought alongside with for a good amount of time when his conscience finally caught up with him. The one who told him that he was too good for Gaston.

Such a statement couldn't be farther from the truth.

“Shhh it’s alright.” Mrs. Potts comforts softly as a fresh wave of tears began to fall from his face silently, his breath hitching all over again.. “Ohh my dear it’ll be alright. You’ll see.” She whispers, rocking him softly back and forth as she would a child. "You'll see..."

There are other voices. It’s loud again. Too much talking and emotion that swirl around into an ugly whirlwind of an overwhelming magnitude. It’s nauseating.

“Monsieur, please let us help you. How can we ease the burden of your grief?” someone asks, a stranger. He has a thick accent, but the tone is warm and concerned.

There are so many things he can say to such questions. But what LeFou discovers in that moment, is that none of the answers would bring Gaston back. Nothing he could say now would ever mend whatever has just broken inside of him today.

And so he says nothing at all.


	2. Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a sitting room is utilized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //aahhh another chaptterrr :')

He’s led to a chaise to rest on, giving his shaky legs a chance to rest. Mrs. Potts wastes no time in fretting about him as such selfless motherly figures do, fetching the blanket that was wrapped over the furniture to wrap around his shoulders. LeFou blankly stares at his hands in his lap, unknowing how to do anything but simply exist.

“A cuppa will do you right up my dear.” Mrs. Potts murmurs softly, cupping his cheek tenderly for a moment before her warm presence disappears.

There’s a guilt that settles deep into his bones at the way the older woman has been treating him. Mrs. Potts had only just been reunited with her family and turned human again. There were so many things she probably wanted to do, but instead was wasting all this time doting over the fool who had the nerve to be upset during a time of celebration.

He shakes his head in denial, unable to process the current state of events.

“Young man.” calls an older voice.

LeFou glances up slowly, eying a portly man adjusting his vest in front of him and tucking a pocket watch he previously was glancing at back into its breast pocket.

“I can assure you that we will do everything in our power, to make sure Captain Gaston’s body is located and preserved to the best of our ability for a proper and honorable burial.” He rumbles gently. “Ah, but allow me to properly introduce myself, I am Henry Cogsworth, the majordomo of the castle. As such, I will make sure everything is taken care of. You can count on me.” He explains, his voice surprisingly gentle in contrast to his stern look.

LeFou can only nod sluggishly. The staff would make sure that Gaston would be dug out from under the pile of rubble and preserved. Preserved like some sort of stuffed animal and put on display to show pride of the kill. Nausea swelled inside of his stomach at the thought of Gaston’s body cold and stiff being stitched up and put into a casket for people to gaze at like vultures circling their prey.

He swallows the nausea down, breathing deeply through his nose as he clutches at the blanket around him tighter to his form. Cogsworth has started rambling again but just like before, the words begin to slur and become muffled in LeFou’s ears. Everything seems so far away again.

“Monsieur.” The voice calls louder, the large hand on his shoulder causing him to flinch back into reality.

LeFou glances up, finding Cogsworth looking down at him with concern. He averts his eyes almost immediately, feeling his cheeks heat at the genuine care that glints within them. Every person of the castle seems to kind and giving and LeFou isn’t sure how to react with such authentic empathy being displayed for his well-being. He was used to being the punching bag with a couple of good moments in between shared in a silent companionship.

“We’d like you to stay here.” Cogsworth announces, earning a surprised glance from the shorter man. “For a fortnight, if you’d allow. I’ve come to understand you were injured but still fought alongside us during the battle, and even saved the life of our dear Mrs. Potts. Under the circumstances I’d humbly beseech you to stay at the castle and allow us to at least help heal the damage we’ve done unto your person.” The older man relays succinctly, squeezing LeFou’s shoulder in a small comforting gesture before releasing him and straightening back up.

There was something unspoken there that lingered in Cogsworth tone, almost that he wanted to say more but refrained. Perhaps it had to do with the time it’d take to get Gaston’s corpse dug out from the giant stones of rubble and everything that would come afterwards. Or perhaps the older man simply saw a bit of himself in the person who called themselves The Fool and felt the need to personally try and get the young man back upon his feet.

Regardless of the reasons, LeFou balks at the suggestion. Eyes wide, he shakes his head but still finds that no words can express how he feels. He cannot manage to articulate his thoughts and morph them into the English vocabulary. It seems so easy to just shake his head and furrow his brow. Words seem overwhelming now. Everything seems overwhelming now.

“I better not see you disagree on that my dear.” Mrs. Potts calls from afar, pushing a small tea trolley through the doorway with a gentle frown.

The fog clears upon hearing her voice. It’s warm, soothing, and makes LeFou feel like just for a moment that things might not be as bad as they could be. She shuts the door behind her with a soft click, and it’s only then does LeFou realize that they were in a sitting room. He doesn’t even remember being ushered out of the courtyard, everything is swirling and blending together.

“One would think I’d be rather sick of tea after what has all happened, but I find myself craving a good cup, I really do.” She smiles, stopping the cart near the two men and preparing a cup. “Do you like sugar dear?” she asks.

He manages a shaky nod.

Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth share a small glance with one another, both with mutual looks of concern at the lack of response.

“What do you think love, would you stay with us for a while?” she urges him softly, beginning to pour hot water into the teacup.

LeFou shakes his head softly, a shaky exhale tumbling from his lips.

“Why ever not dear boy?” Cogsworth questions gently. “I know it’d be as much of a comfort for us that you stay.”

They both watch as the short man’s hands clench at his trousers for a moment before they relax in his lap once more. He runs a quick heel of his palm across his eye and it comes back slightly damp. He manages a helpless shrug, unable to look at either of them.

Unable to help herself, the older woman abandons the tea and moves over to the grieving man. She kneels in front of him, skirt rustling lightly as she does and takes his scraped-up hands tenderly. Wise fingers move up to clasp LeFou’s cheek with a gentle touch, earning a small raise of heartbroken brown eyes that meet her own.

“My sweet dear, you’d best think twice if you think you can try and go it alone now that you’ve met me.” She says, giving him a smile that’s saddened around the edges. “You are family now, and I won’t let you do this by yourself.”

Beatrice Potts is many things. A mother, a servant, a wife. She is a hard-worker and loyal to the people who earns her respect. In just a single evening, LeFou had more than proven himself to be a person with a giant heart and a kind soul. Her life would be for naught if LeFou had not stepped in to help. It was inevitable that she got attached, after what they had been through in such a short time.

Mrs. Potts loves too deeply and understands that this too, is another thing she shares with this lost soul in front of her. She’d rather turn back into a teapot than to simply watch him succumb to grief.

“You’re staying with us.” She declares sternly, finalizing the decision on his behalf.

LeFou watches her with wide, sad eyes, giving a small nod in meek resignation.

A knock on the door interrupts the pair. Cogsworth hastily moves to answer it, opening it smoothly to allow entrance. Mr. Potts and Chip stand in the entryway, eyes alight with glee and lingering jubilation at finding each other.

“Pardon the interruption-but someone was asking around for Monsieur LeFou and I figured it would be in everyone’s interest for a more familiar face to be here.” Mr. Potts says, watching his wife rise to her feet and cross over to greet him with a kiss.

“Why is he so sad mama? He’s a _hero_!” Chip’s voice rings loudly in LeFou’s ears and they leave behind a ringing that only seems to get louder and louder.

He hunches in a bit more on himself, the conversation swirling around his head like flies incessantly buzzing in his ears. LeFou tries to inhale through his nose deeply to calm the rapid beating of his heart, but all that manages is to make him feel dizzy. Gaston should be here. Gaston would know what to say, what to do. Gaston would command the room, and tell what LeFou to do with a simple glance and that would be more than enough. That would give him purpose, to ground him.

But now it’s just noise everywhere, but it’s noise that didn’t include the deep rumble of Gaston’s timbre and it felt wrong.

“LeFou?” a voice rings. It is masculine, the tone is worried and relieved at the same time but it's not Gaston.

There is a stillness. 

The quiet is soothing, like a rush of cold water to clear away the fog of his mind. He looks up and Stanley is standing in the doorway, watching him with such raw concern that it makes his heart stutter in confusion at the display. Stanley’s face has smudges of leftover makeup that was done during the battle and the lipstick is still perfectly in tact, but he has shed the dress and altogether has never looked so confident.

The room is suddenly empty save the two. The rest of the occupants must have exited, wanting the two to have some time to grieve together. Stanley’s eyes convey an ocean of emotion, and all are so real and so raw that LeFou doesn't understand what to do, say, or feel.

He opens his mouth but no words come out. He just doesn’t know what to say. Instead, a hitched sob tumbles from his lips. That’s all that is needed to spur Stanley into action. He shuts the door harshly behind him without a glance, rushing over to the other man.

LeFou is enveloped into a tight embrace, the back of his head cradled and pressed into the crook of Stanley’s neck. His breath stutters and breaks and his trembling arms move up to rest against Stanley’s chest. He burrows his face deeper into the taller man’s neck with a choked cry, his voice hoarse and breathless.

“I’m so sorry LeFou, I’m so sorry.” Stanley whispers in devastation for the other man. “I’m so sorry truly I cannot even _fathom_ …I’m so sorry.” He repeats, almost a mantra for the situation at hand.

LeFou cannot say it is alright, nor can he say it will ever _be_ alright.

And so, he says nothing at all and simply weeps into his friend’s jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Theeree he is!


End file.
